


wind me up tight, convertible nights with you

by atlantisairlock



Category: Ocean's 8 (2018)
Genre: Background Femslash, Backstory, Complicated Relationships, Developing Relationship, F/F, Female Friendship, Friendship/Love, Missing Scene, Team as Family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-06
Updated: 2018-07-06
Packaged: 2019-06-06 04:59:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15187316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/atlantisairlock/pseuds/atlantisairlock
Summary: Debbie and Lou, from the perspective of the other six.They figure it out, eventually.





	wind me up tight, convertible nights with you

**Author's Note:**

> for **becarefulcontentspriceless** , who asked for: 'i'd really like to see how each member of the team finds out in their own way about debbie & lou's relationship'. 
> 
> see [here](http://siewmai.tumblr.com/private/175527119135/tumblr_pbbmhvUZ0I1v40yi9) for what else i'm currently working on & feel free to request!
> 
> title from 'all of you' by betty who.

Tammy’s known Debbie and Lou for half her life, still has photo albums at home full of sepia prints featuring Lou in dirty overalls, Debbie with braces on. Behind one picture that takes pride of place on her desk, carefully framed in gold, is a scrawl in Debbie’s handwriting -  _ best friends!  _ \- and Lou’s smaller, neater print below it -  _ forever.  _ They’ve had each other’s backs forever, know each other better than they know themselves. It’s never mattered how far they were from each other. It’s always been her and Debbie and Lou.

Mostly. Tammy’s not stupid. She knows that they love her - she loves them too - but not the way they love each other. Sophomore year in high school she started picking up on the little things, pinging on her radar, and Debbie and Lou never understood it themselves, but Tammy always has. She’s always seen the way their hands glance against each other’s when they walk through corridors, the way they press up shoulder to shoulder when they’re guarding for danger. She thinks she would feel resentful, excluded, if she were a different person. 

But Debbie and Lou orbit around each other. They love each other all-consumingly, like it’s a given of their lives. They carry it with them, not just as if it’s a part of them, but as if it is them. It’s why Debbie would bring down the moon for Lou and why Lou would follow her unquestioningly into the last circle of hell without looking back. It works for them, but it’s not the life Tammy thinks she would be strong enough to lead.

She watches, from the outside, from beside them, and guards their backs instead, sometimes from each other. Because they love each other, more than their own lives, but they’re all edges especially when they’re young. Time will soften them, make them slot seamlessly into each other’s lives, but she doesn’t know that yet. She protects them, and they both love her, fiercely but just enough, and it’s all she really needs. 

(She gets out of that life - mostly… - and she finds someone and falls in love and has kids and builds something stable for herself. But when they ask her to come back, she goes. She sees the way they look at each other, even after everything, even after all that time apart, and she thinks this was how it was always going to end. She always knew, even as a teenager all those years ago, gazing at her friends and being certain in her heart.)

 

Amita finds Danny, first - or more accurately, he finds her. He’s younger, then, foolhardy and indiscreet, jumping headlong into things and never thinking them through. Amita’s the only one in the shop near closing hours, and he hurtles in like he’s got the wrath of God himself on his tail. 

“I need a place to hide,” he says, eyes wild. Amita, all of twenty-two years old and peering over her sister’s gold bracelet in the dim light, raises one eyebrow at the red-faced, messy-haired white man in the shop and unceremoniously kicks him under the table. When six more white men come storming into her shop not thirty seconds later, she doesn’t even get up, just gives them all the evil eye and reads them for filth in a barrage of angry Tamil. They leave in a hurry, and when they’re finally out of sight, she jabs the stranger under the table with the toe of her shoe. “You can get out now.”

“Thanks,” he gasps, crawling inelegantly out from underneath. “I owe you my life. Danny Ocean,” he adds, sticking out one hand and pushing back sweaty hair with the other. Amita folds her arms and does not take it. “I don’t shake hands with pasty white boys who come barging into my dad’s jewelry shop bringing hitmen with them.” 

Danny’s grin widens, reaching into his jacket pocket and pulling out a neat stack of bills. “How about pasty white boys who pay you for your trouble?”

“I’m not very fond of bribery,” Amita replies, but snatches it over before he can put it back. Danny laughs out loud this time, regaining his composure, cocky and bright. “You know,” he says. “If I ever get your name, I think you’d get along with my sister.” 

He does get her name, and she does get along with his sister, although she ends up clicking better with Danny on the whole - she likes his confidence, and his laugh. Every time he and Debbie are in the area, they’ll meet for lunch and catch up, and it’s fun. Danny pulls her in on the side for a job or two, asks her to help him make something, and pays her well for it. Sometimes Debbie’s with him, sometimes she isn’t, and one time, someone else is there too. She stands beside Debbie in the doorway, both of them talking quietly under their breaths, while Danny inspects the merchandise. 

“Who’s that? New girl?” Amita asks, a little curious, because she knows the Oceans run cons, now, and Danny has a veritable list of contacts up his sleeve - present company inclusive - but he tends not to have them work together all at once. Too many cooks and whatnot, says he. 

Danny looks up, glances at the tall blonde, then looks back with a wry grin. “She’s Debbie’s.”

Amita frowns, uncomprehending. “She’s Debbie’s what?”

Danny just shrugs, putting the necklace in a box and tossing it in his bag. “Just Debbie’s. You know?”

Amita does not, in fact, ‘know’, but lets it go. It’s not her business, after all. If Debbie ever wants to tell her, she will. 

(She never does, but years later, she comes to Amita with an offer, brings her to New York, and there the blonde is -  _ Lou  _ \- and Danny’s not there any more, and everything is different, but some things have stayed the same, and other things start to fall into place.)

 

Constance knows she’s screwed the moment she gets played out by a mark who turns the tables on three-card monte back on her. Which shouldn’t even be  _ possible,  _ but apparently Hot Blonde Lady is something else. She sits back on her haunches in front of Constance in the middle of the dingy alley, smirking and not breaking eye contact, like she can’t tell Constance is frozen to the spot and wondering what the hell is going on. 

“Well, guess the cards like you,” she says, forcing a smile as she slowly hands the mark her money back. “How much did we bet? Double?” Shit, she put down fifty and Constance was sure it was a sucker and she was going to walk away with a cool hundred. And now - 

“You can keep the money,” the mark says smoothly. “But I’d like a favour in return.” 

“A favour,” Constance repeats slowly, because she’s pretty sure she’s going to get shanked or something. The mark nods, extending a hand. “I’m Lou. I think I could interest you in a job.” She pauses, regarding Constance’s expression. “And please don’t steal my watch. It’s got sentimental value.”

Constance palms it back sheepishly. “So, this job…” 

It is, of course, a con. Lou gives her all the details and promises a really good cut. Constance does what she’s best at and pulls it off perfectly, and Lou is as good as her word. She ends up over a thousand bucks richer in one week, and boy, it is a rush. 

“Would you be interested in working future cons?” Lou asks, and is that even a question? The next time Lou turns up in front of her, Constance is packed and ready to follow before Lou even explains the job. They’re usually fast, in and out, she gets her money and Lou slinks off wherever she goes again. She goes back to the routine, always waiting for Lou to call on her again. 

It becomes something she looks forward to, for more reasons than one - because Lou is  _ hot,  _ okay? And definitely gay. Not that she’s ever outright come out (ha ha) and said it, but Constance will eat her deck of cards if Lou turns out to be straight. Constance is interested - nothing serious, but she thinks Lou might be into that kind of thing too. 

She shoots her shot after another job, two years after they meet. They’re sorting out the loot in a park pavilion at 1AM, and Constance inches closer, telegraphs her intentions, leans in - 

Lou stops her, with one hand on her jaw. “I’m not - I can’t,” she says, sounding genuinely regretful and apologetic. Constance draws back immediately, unfazed, but Lou sighs. “You’re gorgeous, Constance, and you’re definitely my type, and if things were different…” 

“Hey, it’s cool. You don’t need to explain yourself to me, Lou.” Constance holds up her hands. Lou smiles, but it’s a little watery. “There’s someone,” she says quietly, looking down at the table. “Someone I - care about. Someone I’m waiting for.” 

Constance tilts her head sympathetically, watching her. “She coming back?”

And Lou sets her jaw, eyes hard and firm. “Yes,” she replies. “She’s coming back.” 

(Another two years later she looks up from stealing another mark’s watch and twenty bucks to see Lou with a beautiful brunette standing beside her, both of them smiling down at her, and they’re not touching or holding hands or anything but there’s that look in Lou’s eyes and  _ oh,  _ she thinks, first thing.  _ She came back. _ ) 

 

Rose gets in on the plan for obvious reasons, being that she would get her life back and she wouldn’t go to jail. It ends up being pretty fun. Debbie’s obviously thought the plan through very meticulously and Rose is actually confident that it’s going to work out without a hitch. Dressing Daphne Kluger for the Met Gala isn’t shabby either. 

She’s the first one they bring in, and for a while, she’s the only one. It’s a little lonely, because Debbie and Lou stick to each other like glue and it’s evident from the get-go that they have years upon years of history between them - the kind of thing that an outsider could never even touch. They argue and they yell and they disagree hotly on a lot of things, but Rose watches them sometimes over her mannequin and just observes. There’s so much trust strung out between them, so much loyalty and devotion. They never kiss, they never say  _ I love you,  _ they never do anything typical to ‘normal couple’, but a blind man could see it. And Rose definitely does.  So it’s never really a matter of  _ figuring it out.  _ It’s right there and she sees it and she accepts it, and that’s that. 

Only it isn’t, because after years and years of not wanting anything other than sponsors and the perfect design and two houseboats on the Seine, she wants that. Not either of them, but what they have. She thinks she might want somebody to look at her like she’s home. Might want to look at somebody the same way. They fall into each other like it’s the easiest thing in the world, and Rose wants something to come easy. For just once in her life.

(Three weeks before the Gala Daphne breaks down crying in front of her and Rose feels her heart swell and sink and ache with the sheer inevitability of it. She designs Daphne’s dress and stays up late into the night sewing furiously, and when the Toussaint arrives, she takes a step back to just admire the sheer beauty of Daphne in that dress, in that necklace. Leaving her without having kissed her once is the hardest thing in the world - and then she comes back, storms right into their headquarters like she belongs there, and suddenly, it’s as easy as breathing.)

 

Debbie strides into headquarters that very first afternoon they meet bitching about the F train, then asks Nine Ball for her real name. Lou gives her this look and pulls her aside. They argue in hushed whispers behind a pillar, and Nine Ball just manages to stop herself from crowing something about a married couple having a domestic quarrel. 

She means it, then, as a joke, but then they get into the real planning of the heist and it starts to seem less and less like one. She cleans up their footprint, and in doing so delves pretty deep into their pasts, their childhoods. Everything Debbie’s been involved in seems to tie back to Lou in some way, shape or form. It’s really telling. 

She manages to pull up search histories and bookmarks from half a decade ago, before Debbie went to prison, before Claude Becker. Her fingers stutter to a stop on the keyboard at some of the stuff Lou was looking at - wedding bands, websites of reputable jewellers, venues. She discreetly checks the timeline - right before Debbie started working with Claude.

Shit. 

Nine Ball looks further. Looks into Debbie’s footprint during her trial and holding - after she was arrested, before she was incarcerated. There’s some stuff that seems to come from an angry place, but also an email, sent from a burner to a now-defunct address. Short and (bitter)sweet.

_ Danny. I need you to watch out for Lou while I’m in here. Don’t let her do anything stupid like try to kill him. I don’t want you trying that either. _

_ I made a mistake. I don’t want her to be paying for it. _

_ Tell her I’m sorry.  _

That one was sent and successfully reached the recipient. Nine Ball’s heart clenches a little, because she’s good at what she does and she uncovers a draft that says the same thing, with one more line added below -

_ Tell her I love her so much I’m so sorry I was so stupid she was right and when I get out I’m never letting her go ever again I’m so s _

Nine Ball wipes that from the internet forever and keeps her mouth shut. She’s not the type to go interfering in the lives of people she actually cares about when she has no business to be doing so. She’s never been in prison or even been close to being arrested - she’s too good at what she does for that - and she can’t even begin to imagine what it must have been like for Debbie, five years in. 

She and Lou will figure it out on their own, in time. 

(She’s good at pretending she doesn’t give a shit about anything or anyone, but Nine Ball takes a quick screengrab of the email draft before she wipes it forever, keeps it safe on her drive, because Debbie is bold and takes risks and Nine Ball worries. She can see Debbie taking too great a gamble and losing, and she can see Lou being left behind. She thinks it might be for the best to make sure this, at least, survives. One tangible, true record of how much Debbie Ocean loved Lou Miller, even if everything else ever fades away.) 

 

The first time Daphne ever kisses anyone it’s in front of three cameras and twenty people. Her second kiss is about the same, and then the third, and after a while, the mere sight of chick flicks make her feel nauseous with anger, jealousy roiling in her gut. Her whole life is for public consumption from the time she knows how to walk and talk. The concept of privacy is so foreign and something Daphne wants so, so badly but is always out of reach. 

So when she joins the team - more like elbows her way in and demands a place - Debbie offers her a room to herself in headquarters and Daphne’s jaw hits the floor. The others leave her alone when she says she wants to be left alone, and Nine Ball hijacks every closed-circuit television within a five-mile radius so she’s blessedly left off the tabloids for once in over ten years. She starts figuring it out. She starts getting used to it. It’s amazing and she’s so grateful and it’s why she never pries. She swallows down the urge so deeply coded in her bones and never pushes the others to say more about themselves than they want to.

Debbie and Lou, in particular, never mention the elephant in the room. Daphne gets it because she doesn’t mention her own, either - avoids Rose’s gaze and tries to quell the pang in her heart every time she passes her by in the corridors, trying to figure out what of their month together was truth and what was lie. It’s too close for comfort, because Daphne doesn’t  _ know,  _ okay? She’s never dated, never seen anyone around her have a healthy relationship of any kind, and all she knows of romance is standing under spotlights trying to hit her mark, feeling hot breath on her cheek and screwing her eyes shut and trying to block out the rest of the world. All she knows of romance is watching her films and wondering why it’s never felt the way it’s filmed. 

Every kiss she’s ever had has been watched, criticised, picked apart,  _ seen.  _ It’s why, when she wakes up in the middle of the night and heads to the kitchen for a drink and sees Debbie and Lou kissing in the hallway, slow and lingering and longing, she freezes and is helpless to do anything but watch, for a good minute. 

It is nothing like the chick flicks, and neither is their relationship. It’s nothing like anything she’s ever had but it’s deeply and truly real. And the pieces kind of just fit together, then, for her, and she shakes herself out of it, slips back into the shadows, heads for Rose’s room. Knocks on the door, lets Rose open it and see her - really  _ see  _ her. 

She doesn’t say  _ I love you,  _ because it’s not the point. She just pulls her into a hug and she’s home. 

After - and she doesn’t just mean  _ after  _ they kiss or  _ after  _ they make it official, but  _ after  _ everything, after the jewels are all sold off and Claude Becker is behind bars and they’re settling down to talk about the future, Debbie and Lou ask them if they want to stay. Everyone glances around at each other and eventually everyone is saying  _ yes, please, always,  _ not necessarily in those words, but close enough. They lean into each other, a little, grin happily, and Debbie calls them family with a smile on her lips, and Lou says she’s got a bottle of vodka to celebrate, and they both disappear into the kitchen, not holding hands, but together. 

“Just saying, but they’re totally married, right?” Daphne asks, because maybe she’s starting to get the hang of this - trust, and space, and respect, and friendship. Being herself, and being in love, and being okay with it. Letting herself hold truths in her hands without clutching tight. Letting all of them just be them, together. 

“So married,” Constance replies cheerfully, tossing some popcorn in her mouth and passing the bowl over to Daphne. “And we’re the brood. Mom #1 and Mom #2’s adopted chicks. Welcome, little bird.” 

(Daphne takes this to heart and buys Debbie and Lou matching #1 MOM mugs for Mother’s Day. The others laugh themselves to tears and Debbie and Lou roll their eyes, but they put them in the kitchen anyway and make the coffee in them every morning without fail. One day Debbie comes home with a #1 WIFE mug and a ring inside it, and Lou cries, and everything comes full circle, finally falling right into place, where it was always meant to be.) 


End file.
